A Hard Day's Evening
by phoenical-maniax
Summary: As Lucius traipses home after a hard day Fudgedodging at the Ministry, he comes across a tramp who is not quite as he appears at first glance. Involving Voldemort, shiny hotpants, and I Will Survive.


**Title:** A Hard Day's Evening  
**Author:** Punkheid  
**Pairing:** None. Well, hints of Lucius/Fudge xD  
**Rating:** PG-13? I really am rubbish at this rating business  
**Warnings:** Hints at slash.  
**Summary:** Involving Voldie, Lucius, and a pointy stick, just as LiveJournal user masha89 specified all that time ago.  
**Disclaimer:** Hohoho. Would that I were JK and could put this lunacy into the books dreamy sigh

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It had been a Hard Day. Most days spent flattering Cornelius, buying Cornelius coffee, laughing at Cornelius' jokes, and generally flirting with the man's lecherous side were Hard Days, mainly because Fudge's grasping fingers turned into an obstacle course like no other, and because there was a good reason for the fact that you didn't have to look slinky when swerving round ski poles or what have you, or make sure that the ski poles thought you were just playing hard to get. Thus, he was exhausted. Well and truly. As he slouched (elegantly mind you, he _was_ Lucius Malfoy) down the deserted street that hid the Ministry's entrance he came upon the last thing he needed to see. A tramp. From the looks of it, a foul, smelly tramp who hadn't seen anything but his cardboard box for many a day. Except he didn't have a cardboard box, he had a pointy stick. Which was rather puzzling, not to mention highly disturbing. What was the world coming to?! Lucius Malfoy the flirt, and cardboard box-less tramps. Lucius cunningly hid his shameful sniffle as a snort of disdain. Unfortunately, this didn't have quite the effect he was expecting.

"Loooshus?" the crumpled pile slurred, waving the stick vaguely in the air about its head.

Lucius stared. Did the tramp just say his name?

"I hash reashed a velly critical time of life, Looshus! I wantsh you to stand by me. Will you?" it mumbled fervently, now whipping the stick back and forth in a rather terrifying manner.

Lucius' mouth fell open in a very un-Lucius-ish manner. What the hell?!

"I hash never realised just how important thish life is, Looshus, how important to live every moment, to realish your potential!" With this final ardent speech, the pile of rags erupted upwards, pointy stick zooming for the heavens.

"M-master?!" Lucius yelped in disbelief, before the tall man in front of him flung his dingy cloak to the ground.

Lucius blanched.

Lucius gulped.

Lucius seriously contemplated running for his life.

But he was unable to carry out this ingenious plan, as the dark lord chose that moment to wind his fingers into his magenta feather boa and begin to sing. He swayed his pink patent leather clad hips to a tune it seemed only he could hear. He lifted his sparking bundle of moulting feathers into the air over his head and gyrated, the shimmering purple tights revealed by his skimpy hotpants catching the streetlights' glare and turning it into a spotlight. And... he seemed to have splashed out on a perm.

"I'sh had a revelation, Looshy! I'm gonna... gonna re-vamp, baby!" he cried excitedly, whirling onto the road and performing rather painful looking pelvic thrusts in time to his words.

"Life ish meant for living! Look at those stars up there, they ish twinkling at me, telling me that my destiny ish not whatsh I hash been making it!"

Lucius gawked in blank terror. All thoughts of Fudge had been driven firmly from his mind. After all, your master running his hands seductively over a lamp-post is a tad distracting.

"I, Looshus, plan to survive! I will! I will survivvve! For as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive! La la la la la! And I'sh got all my love to give! I will survivvvve!"

Lucius staggered to the pavement and grabbed frantically for a handhold as Lord Voldemort began shaking his newly curly hair around his face. He collapsed to the ground and ran a shaking hand over his eyes. He peeked through his fingers. Oh God! He was still there!

"The queshtion ish, Looshus, whesher you wilsh survive?" the Dark Lord intoned as menacingly as a drunk man wearing shiny hotpants could, before pirouetting away. Just then, the pointy stick, which had been taking a vacation to the heavens Voldemort had so devotedly described, succumbed to the pull of gravity, and dived into Lucius' ear. But really, it didn't make much difference to his mood.


End file.
